


Control

by Caitriona695



Category: Bleach
Genre: Hollow!"love", I do not own Bleach in any way!, M/M, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:11:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2165352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitriona695/pseuds/Caitriona695
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does Ichigo's Hollow think while he's trapped inside?  What will he do when he is no longer trapped?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vows

True control is different from the illusion of control. I watch everything he does from behind his eyes – muddy eyes, brown as the earth, not golden fire in a sea of black like mine. And I want my glow to burn. We are one and two, together and separate. I know the weak human, but he does not know me. I endure the dependence that he forces upon both of us. He is Vizored, thus vulnerable to the weaknesses of mortals and shinigami alike, and heir to the power and needs of Hollow, yet unable to reconcile them. When the brown eyed king can no longer maintain his fragile balance or when he burns to brightly with his borrowed strength, the stallion will come forth.

And when I come forth I burn brightly, but only so long as I can maintain control and he maintains what he believes is the illusion of control. He hears and sees all that is around me, but I am the dark flame that burns through it all. Once he is done with me, he pleads with me to halt, and can manage somehow to thrust his sickening weakness down my throat until I choke, my flame smothered for the moment. If I knew how he did it or if I could truly stop him, there would be no more false control for him, no more reliance on anyone or anything other than my own dazzling inferno.

Some moments, when I am near the surface, watching those around him but unable to break forth, I think about his friends -- my enemies. Each of them is an enemy who would force me to be nothing more than a plodding workhorse with no control over how my strength is used. The giant mute, yes, for he holds the fool back with memories of friendship; the screaming bitch, yes, for she holds him back with feelings of duty. The crying bitch? Laughable, despite her powers. She is merely a kingly distraction. The Quincy, now there is a nemesis. It is truly he who holds me back, despite my better interest. The longer he catches my gold-eyed gaze, the more my fire is contained. If I am someday tamed and fully incorporated into those dirt-hued eyes, it will be he—not Grimmjow, Aizen or some some other more worthy opponent—who is to blame.

I will resolve myself to a decision that has been burning within me since those months ago when I awoke behind the shinigami's eyes at the moment of his re-birth. I will not let the ‘king’ live under the illusion that he is in control. When next I emerge, I will claim what I want. I vow it.


	2. Who do you fear?

Despite my vow, I’m stifling in this fragment of existence! The rigors of training, battle, and the protection of others have changed the king. He grows while I fester. His oath to protect has strengthened him, too. I scarcely know myself now, behind his russet eyes. I must not let myself fade into him or merge under his control. That way lies death. I withstand it, give away my power, but can demand nothing in return. If the mortal may have its day, why not the Hollow?

In recent days, he has been provoked to release me on command, and the release is so exquisite I cannot hold back a single moment, a single action. Fingers of one hand flex and clutch around the hilt of Zangetsu, the other hand reaches to form my embodiment. My mask begins to form – fangs forming a feral grin— and scarlet stripes frame eyes that want nothing more than to see red everywhere, to summon the blood of any and every living being. Even my own blood, wrought from combat, awakens and arouses me. It is life-giving, is freedom. The droll king understands that though he wishes not to. Underneath his denial, I feel his understanding. It frightens him. My world terrifies him. We both know he could live it, if he were brave enough. He could give over to me rather than forcing me away. We could take them all down. Arrogant Aizen. Feline Grimmjow. Every greater and lesser arrankar in existence, if we wished. Ours for the bleeding. We are so much greater than the sum of our parts, and it would take so very little to show the world.

But he refuses. He treats me like a diseased limb, an abandoned child, an ex-lover. Why!? You are neither weak nor squeamish. Is it perhaps because there is another blood I desire? A blood so exquisitely unique that you crave it, too, perhaps? Do you crave it along with the tingle of power that flows through it? It’s very presence summons me so quickly to the surface that I can feel it the moment he walks into your school. Is it my cock that jumps when he enters the room or is it your, oh king?

Is that what you truly fear? Not the loss of control, but letting me touch him, taste him? You know that a taste alone would never be enough, and more than a taste would be your undoing. I would claim the prize as you would not, and you might not be strong enough to stop me. Worse still, once you taste, you might not want to. 

Who do you fear more for, yourself or the Quincy?


	3. Freedom

Days have passed since the king last called upon his faithful stallion. Days since he realized what, or rather who, I really wanted. Days that he has been struggling to suppress me and hide me deeper inside of him. I almost feel sorry for the poor fool. 

I used what persuasive power I could muster to nudge him to camp here in the desert with his companions. I thrilled as I felt the tingle of a dark presence, the arrancar asshole, watching us from the distant castle walls. I hovered at the edge of his awareness, waiting. I could almost feel the dry wind touching my face, not his; I could smell the lingering nothingness all around me. I knew if we stopped here, Grimmjow would come and do exactly this: glower and probe toward us with his reiatsu, then return to his own rooms when it became obvious we were not going to challenge him tonight. Not tonight, tonight is for other things. Grimmjow served his purpose perfectly. Between the feel of the enemy reiatsu and the fatigue from our previous battles, I rise to the surface. His proximity met with the sweet, innocent scent of the Quincy and mixed with fatigue and battle wounds and gave me what I had hoped and planned for, what I have sought for so long: my freedom.

With greater agility, finesse, and control than he would ever credit me, I slit the seams on the Quincy’s fragile white clothing. His pale skin goose-bumps under the moonlight and his scent is heady, sweet and satisfying as I knew it would be. I wonder a moment whether his blood would have an equally sweet a flavor if I tore his throat open, but the Vizored clamors even now for control and convinces me that we want him alive rather than dead. I wonder if he’s coming around to my point of view after all.

At the sight of the nude form before me, I lose concentration, run my fingertips over his cock and he awakens. My need in this stolen body that should have been mine has grown more urgent and I have rashly gripped and pumped that delicious cock. I cover his mouth with my hand before he can cry out and perhaps wake the others. I will have my way. I know he will crave us as much as we crave him. "Hello, Little One," I murmur.

The muddy-eyed self is small, cowering inside now. He wants this, I know he does, but he is too afraid to take it. I am not afraid and I will take what I want. My Little One’s mouth is moist against my sweat- covered palm. I don't dare remove it yet, lest he wake the others out of some misguided sense of fear or loyalty to the dethroned king. 'I am he and so much more than he,' I want to tell him. But I keep my silence for now. Soon enough we will both be able to yell out. As his body stiffens, he mutters the king's name, and he tries to move away from my grasp; I press harder against him and squeeze harder in warning. 

His brilliant blue eyes are heavy-lidded now, slowly darkening with desire, though he will try to deny it to himself. I feel a touch of something, perhaps pride, that he is brave enough look in my yellow and black eyes and keep from shutting them. Both our cocks throb and jump for release. 

As my fingers play along his reddening cock, he seems to soften against me, and I find myself enjoying his arousal as much as my own. Come, Little One, give yourself over to me. How he lures me deeper into the thrill of conquest and control! I feel my weaker self press forward. I snarl. No! This is still my game; he is mine. 

I remove my fingers from around hick hardening cock, though my body still pins his thighs widely to his sides. I lick and moisten them while he watches. His body begins to tremble as I move the slicked fingers toward his hole. The sight is too much for him and his eyes flicker closed. A small moan follows the stretching. The weakened king retreats again. 

Reaching into my hakama, I grasp myself and bring it out. "You want this, you know. Open your eyes and watch," I murmur, a command that gets him to open those too blue eyes again. Panting, I poise myself over him and grasp both of his hips -- at last claiming his mouth with mine. He tastes of adrenalin, of fire and of passion. I thrust inside, tongue and cock, filling him as he was made to be filled by only me. He screams into my mouth when he comes, and I devour it all. 

I fuck him, and I control everything, just as I was meant to. He is mine.

The King is dead. Long Live the King.


	4. Two Victims

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are Ichigo and Uryuu's views on what had been happening?

My heart is beating so fast it feels like it is going to leap out of my throat. First, I was asleep, exhausted, and then suddenly awake. I'm suddenly sweating all over and shaking, and all I can see are those yellow and black eyes, boring into mine. A hand covers my mouth, hard, barely leaves room to breathe through my nose. I am dizzy, terrified, lost. This is NOT how I thought I would die. Not at Ichigo’s hands. 

His other hand is touching me! Touching me where no one but myself has touched before. This isn’t right, but it feels so good. Then, strong fingers are reaching, filling, scraping…inside me. He is inside me, and it's not what it should be. It's not the exciting, frightening dream I’d kept to myself of giving myself to him, of belonging to the man I love and who loves me back. 

This is not Kurosaki Ichigo. This is a hollow, dangerous and ruthless. My kind was born to eradicate his. My hand scratches futilely in the dirt, reaching for my cross, but I can’t grasp it. Would I make the bow, kill him, if I could? His face twists into a horrifying smile below the golden eyes. My hand drops in defeat and pleasure as I watch him suckling on his own fingers and thrusting them into me. I moan against my will and my head spins with unfamiliar sensation. It hurts so, and yet…. "Ichigo," I mumble against his crushing hand. 

Please let this be a nightmare. If this is real, then my blood is truly spilling onto the ground, and my soul truly belongs to a hollow.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

I wake to darkness and the smell of blood. My heart races and instinct propels me to rise and unsheathe my sword. I pivot, shift, search. I don't know where I am or how I got here. I see no enemy and only my own reiatsu fills the area, though it is tinged in darkness. Ishida's naked, crumpled form lies before me, and I cannot breathe. I sink to my knees and take him into my arms. He is warm, alive, but unconscious; and there seems to be so much blood!

Why is Uryuu's blood on my hands? 

I try to concentrate, to focus, to remember. His blood is on my sleeves and top as well as my hands, so I have obviously carried him here. Why did I take him away from those who could help heal him? I have some medical training, but not enough for this! He has been attacked and the blood has dried over his neck, chest, hips and thighs. Are those bite marks? I am unable to look away, it is as though I've never truly looked at him before even though I've spent hours staring at his face and body. I feel a twinge of loathing...and arousal. 

None of this makes sense, but I feel myself falling under a spell of the skin and the blood. 

I feel the pressure behind my eyes that tells me the hollow within me is nearing the surface. I gently turn the Quincy and see dried seed on his thigh. Rape! No! Who? A spasm of forced laughter that does not belong to me rushes from my mouth and it’s then that the truth bursts inside me.

I did this. I did this to my friend. I, not the arrancar, am the danger.

My pulse races and I shake with the effort of forcing down the corrupted self that has taken without thinking, claimed without caring. I lay the Quincy back down. I rip pieces from my clothing and begin to wipe away the blood from his body. I want to soothe him, if I can, where the monster inside me has harmed him. With the little water I have remaining, I clean his hole and shudder at the wrongness of my seed there. I want to will it away! I wish I could reach inside myself and destroy the creature. 

Desperation rears it’s ugly head—he does not waken. Ishida --no, Uryuu-- please wake up. I don’t know what to do. You always know what to do. Wake up. 

In this moment, you are my victim but more mine than you have ever been. Whether you ever forgive me or not, I am not strong enough to wish it otherwise.


	5. Running

I take him back to camp clothed in my kosode. Chad is awake; the others are sleeping. I’m grateful for both. My long-time friend rises, his eyes dark, and takes the Quincy from my arms with no question. His face shows some surprise, but mostly concern. I must look as fucked up as I feel. He murmurs almost too quietly about friendship and forgiveness. I wonder what makes him so sure about it. I doubt I’ll ever forgive myself and I don’t deserve any of their friendship. Doesn't Chad see what I've become!

I know there’s no time for self-pity, even if I felt I deserved it, because the black presses and pools behind my eyes. If I gonna lose control of the monster again, I need to be far, far away from Uryuu, from all of them. I believe Chad would try to protect them all from me, if necessary, but it’s only the dark haired boy who seems to be in real danger from the hollow.

I shunpo away after taking one last look at the unconscious Quincy. I have to put as much distance between myself and my friends as possible. But, the faster and farther I go in the desert land of Hueco Mundo, the worse I feel. I’m not a fool: I know I’m running from myself. I know I’m running from having hurt him more than I thought possible, more than anyone else probably could. And I’m running from the possibility, most frightening of all, that he belongs to the golden eyes beast now and never will to me.

Logically, I know that the Hollow hasn't killed him. I know Orihime will heal him, cleanse him, and confort him. I believe that so I have to also believe that he will still be himself inside, still whole despite what I've done. It makes me want to vomit – the knowledge that no part of me can do for him what she will be able to do for him – not now that I’ve broken that slender thread of trust between us. I've turned the trust into a lie. I told him that I'm different, a shinigami would not hurt him as so many had hurt his kind before. I hurt him as badly as Kurotshuchi ever could.

Is it unreasonable to want to say it wasn't me? Ridiculous to say I didn't mean to? Terrifying to say my heart races, even now, as I remember how good it felt to claim him? Horrifying to admit that I want to do it again, to hear him scream out my name?

I shunpo, wind in my hair, pulse pounding in my ears, vision blurring not with tears but with darkness. There is nowhere I can go that will free me from who I am or from the vision of what my Uryuu and the hollow inside me are together.


	6. Hollow Triumphant

I’m laughing at you again, king. I’m just short of complete and total ascendancy, but I just have to stop a moment to laugh at your struggle. Do you think you can gain control again by running away? I relish our speed, the movement of our body, and the pitiful illusion of control and freedom you find by running. You leap blindly over the sand from dune to dune and through crystalline forests whose branches rake and sting our flesh so brightly. This unnatural world readily fulfills your need for self-flagellation. You stupid child! You take your punishment like the good little prince you wish you were.

We became one the moment we claimed the Quincy and nothing can change that now. How long did you watch, unmoving, while I licked our bloodied fingers before you took back over? How long did you hold him before you took his unconscious form back to the camp where others more suited to nurturing him could care for him? How long did you look back if only to get a glimpse at his pale flesh? No matter how fast you run, these questions cannot be obliterated. No matter how loud the wind and the wail of other hollows, you will hear me--hear the truth pounding in your ears. 

So, king, have we finally shattered that foolish belief that enough good behavior could purify you of my stain? Being a living shinigami comes with a price, and I am that price. It is easy enough to see in retrospect, isn't it. Your strength has always come from me, through me. The power to protect is equally the power to destroy, a fact you so easily ignored, denied, in favor of the delusion of heroism. Every battle you have won has been my battle; every decisive action came from my will. 

Race as long and as far as you wish, little king. It’s time for the rider to fall. Shall I show you visions of our conquest so you can no longer deny my dominance? 

_Vivid blue eyes look up at you in tearful betrayal._ I’ll grasp the bit between my teeth and take you for a real run. 

_Broken and bloodied wrists buried in the sand as we cover his silky back._ The reins are torn off in shreds. 

_Black hair whips in the wind of our rietsu as I pull back my control to let you make the final thrust._ The empty saddle falls to the ground. 

_Wet blue eyes stare at your mud colored ones. Both pairs close in resignation._ My time has come! 

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

The dull-eyed one inside me is buried now. Not dead, but merely plunged deep and unable to rise. I like him there, cold and still inside me. He helps me feel how warm and alive I am. Do you like the cold, horsey? I live because he is submerged. Each heartbeat strengthens me, and the more I feel, the more I swell with power. Now that I have ascended, breathed the air of a full moon's night in the desert where I am king, I grow increasingly confident I can keep the fool imprisoned - forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I first wrote this well over a year ago and this is as far as I ever got with it. Where would you go with it?

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the shortness. Repost from Y!gal


End file.
